


Rise

by Shadowdianne



Series: Turnabout [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 06:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/Shadowdianne
Summary: She had made enough mistakes, she realized and yet her mind was still frozen in terror every time she went back to Regina’s eyes as she had taken Hope away; as she had taken her daughter -their, a voice chanted deep inside her, their- away.





	Rise

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I truly recommend reading the previous installment of this one because otherwise you are going to feel slightly lost Xd
> 
> Ok, so Strega delivered the pain. I’m merely here to bring you all A LOT of inner thinking on Emma’s side. Hope this helps with making her reasoning slightly less murky!
> 
> (This beast was done in four hours. I will come back and edit it later but I just wanted to have it posted)

 

Time, she had asked for time but now, back at an apartment in which no picture hung but the few ones she had taken with Hope, she only felt empty. Between her arms, Hope squirmed, restless already and far too impatient. Tightening her jaw, Emma looked down just as a few bursts of biting magic reached through the toddler.

She wasn’t used to this; she had learnt to recognize only other sorceress’ magic signature over the years, learnt to search for it, to sense it, to yearn for it even. But Hope magic was… different, and she eyed the brown eyes of her daughter while worrying her bottom lip.

She was beautiful, a voice inside her head whispered and she smiled slightly with the burning of tears beginning to mount up. She was beautiful and intelligent, and she felt a surge of pride rising like a tide inside of her.

She was beautiful, and her magic was purple.

Lilac perhaps, her mind countered. Not purple. Not…

Regina’s.

“Shhh.” She whispered, and she was glad her voice didn’t tremble as the toddler’s eyes focused on her, still too young but already holding far too much intelligence on the way she tilted her head and smiled at her: a toothy grin that, despite the panic rising within her chest, she found herself unable to not answer to. “You have caused quite the mess, uh?”

She didn’t know who she was talking to; she feared the answer to it.

When she had appeared at Granny’s house she had had thousands of thoughts swirling on her head; the tranquil laziness of her morning completely forgotten as she barely had the time to glamour some of the marks the night had left on her. That kind of fine and precise magic wasn’t her domain, but she had had enough presence of mind to try it just as Granny had opened the door, her eyes wise and not entirely judging but definitely holding some contempt Emma found herself blushing under.

“Is she…” She had asked, unable to finish the words before Granny gave her a curt nod and let her enter, busying herself with what Emma recognized to be Ruby’s old cape. The one the lanky brunette rarely got to use anymore now, back at Oz.

“She is okay.” Granny had looked above her shoulder and Emma had followed her gaze with her own, a soft sigh escaping her lungs as she had found Hope perfectly playing on her playpen, nothing out of the ordinary in sight. “But I think you should have this, just in case.”

Emma had grasped the soft red fabric, clutching it against her chest and ironing invisible wrinkles on it as she had walked towards the toddler, smiling softly at her daughter as she had kept on playing; still unaware of her presence. Kneeling in front of her, she had shifted her body weight in order to not tumbler over the toddler, the cape trapped between her bent knees and torso as she reached for Hope’s soft blonde locks, knowing that would get her attention far faster than her own voice would do.

She had heard Granny busying herself in the back, the way she had kept away, as if waiting, something that in hindsight should have irked her more than it had but her mind had been focused on Hope, on the relief she had felt at the sight of her; perfectly safe, perfectly content. A part of her mind had still been reeling of course; at the very same idea that her daughter could hold magic, would be able to produce it and use it just like she did. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head: now it wasn’t the time, she had thought. Not when Hope let out a gurgled laugh before she finally turned to her, lips parting as she reached for her with tiny yet impressively strong hands.

Emma had reached for them just as her eyes scanned her daughter’s face; not compulsively but still a reflex she had found herself unable to shake off. It was then when she saw the change; obvious in the only way blue to dark brown could be.

She had been vaguely aware that the clattering Granny had been creating at her back had stopped; the old woman probably watching her intently from wherever she was standing from. She, however, couldn’t focus on anything else as she saw the brown glancing back at her; dark brown that hold some lightness to it; a starry fleck here and there that made the difference all much starking.

“She already looked like that when I found her staring at me.” Granny’s voice had been soft, and Emma realized she had been holding her breath as Hope emitted a few more happy sounds, moving forward with the shift of a toddler who still didn’t know how to hold themselves completely upright.

Throat closing, Emma had found herself gaping as she picked up her daughter, her thumbs hooking beneath her armpits, the touch sending electric pulses through her skin. Soft and warm and vague in the only way weak magic felt. When she peered back to eyes that had been blue less than a few hours ago she found herself letting out a chocked sob.

She knew whose eyes were those. She had known the second her mind had registered the change. Of course she knew. And it was precisely that instant recognition what made her head swarm with a million answers that, ultimately, finished in one single question mark. The one she had felt hanging around her neck for the longest of times after that last road trip. The one in where she had been back at Storybrooke with lipstick still hidden deeply on her skin, the need to touch and feel the one that had colored her very dreams for weeks to come.

“It looks almost like my mother’s.” She had managed to croak, and Granny hummed noncommittally at her side; her tone dubious but not once daring to tell her otherwise. She knew she was lying.

It couldn’t be, she had thought. And yet, it was.

She had remembered thousands of moments no one but her and Hook had shared, the ones filled with bitter mistrust as the man had asked her why, why she always put Regina or Henry above them both. She had tried to assuage those words with actions, the very same need repulsing her in a way that had made her body clench with disgust. She had tried to deny them knowing deep, deep down that they were true in some capacity she wasn’t even able to voice. She had tried to flush them out of her while knowing they were as ingrained on her as the memory of Regina’s magic cursing through her.

It wasn’t love the only word she had feared but other, much more present, much more obvious now that Hope’s brown eyes had looked at her: for how long.

She hated the feel of being trapped in strings made by stagnant ink and yet she felt those tendrils reaching for her once again as she tried her best to keep breathing as Hope’s brow had furrowed, apparently bored of her lack of response.

And yet her mind had conjured up an image that made her weak as she pursed her lips; wanting to cry. The sight of lazy mornings and soft touches, of softer admissions whispered in the shell of her ear, wandering kisses and yelps of pleasure before breakfast would be prepared, a growing Hope there, not only with her by her side but another sorceress as well; blonde hair slightly darker now, maybe close to fair chestnut, as she turned and smiled proudly, magic spilling out of her as not only Emma but Regina smiled at her, proud.

Sucking on yet another sob Emma had felt her insides twist as Hope blinked, lilac spilling out of her like hundredths of stars, the color leaving behind faint traces of a mixture she had felt only once before.

So caught up on the feeling she had been that she had almost jumped backwards when Granny had approached her, her calloused hand tugging at the cape until Emma had let it free from her hold.

“You will need this.” The woman had said, sternly and Emma hadn’t been able to say anything against it as Granny draped the oversized cape around Hope’s shoulders, the brown fiddling out; deep blue returning back. The change didn’t seem to affect the toddler, who picked several toy blocks and made them hit each other with obvious glee. And she had felt traveling in time once again; about to leave Storybrooke and with just enough alcohol on her system to almost miss the wolf, the one that had beckoned her back to the city, back to the town.

And then…

Emma blinked back into the present as Hope squirmed; ready to be let go. Her eyes were still brown, and the woman smiled despite the terror that clutched her heart as she looked at them; gorgeous in every way. Walking to the living room in where Hope had her own playpen there she lowered her daughter down, tiny feet kicking in the air as Hope realized she was about to be left there.

Watching her, Emma treaded a hand through her hair, stumbling back until the back of her legs hit the couch. Plopping down, she bit down on her bottom lip, labored breaths quickly rising from her.

No matter the flight response she had had a few minutes ago she knew what Hope’s eyes meant in the same way soft lilac colored magic did. She could feel the truth seeping in her bones and she pressed her hands against her eyes; a soft “fuck” escaping her lips in a way that her heart jumped; a part of her almost waiting for Regina’s voice to reach her; a judgdy “language” floating towards her. She, however, was met with silence and she felt her pulse quickening on her throat as she remembered the other woman’s shocked face; one that had soon enough been replaced with nothing but raw, open delight.

And she had crushed it.

Shoulders trembling, she bent forward, elbows on her knees as Hope kept on babbling; fortunately still not hungry enough to make a fuss even if Emma’s inner clock told her that she would need to feed her soon enough. A thought that, while prominent, didn’t reach the forefront of her mind as she kept on flashing back to the way Regina had pleaded her to stay.

To not run.

Groaning, she pressed her palms even harder on her eyes, until the dark abyss she kept on seeing was full with brilliant dots of washed-away neons. She had run at the end, hadn’t see? It didn’t matter how she had let herself feel a few hours ago; filled to the brim with a feeling she hadn’t been able to voice aloud. And yet, when she had stammered, unable to say the words, Regina had told her it didn’t matter; that she knew it. Actions were always louder than words, she had said to herself, in order to calm her guilt, and she had almost believed it, cocooned away in soft sheets and scorching touches.

Yet, she had run once again and the weight of that made her sob bitterly into the darkness; the sound that quickly followed that making her blink back into the living room; to Hope as the toddler eyed her with the knowledge every kid of had; unbidden to any societal restrains.

“I’m ok.” She told her daughter, weak smile grazing her lips, but Hope didn’t seem to belief her as she picked a yellow-colored plushie, waving it towards her as if expecting the very same sight of it would help Emma’s inner stress.

And she would be alright; of course, she would be because Emma laughed a little before she rose from the couch, kneeling next to her daughter and picking the offered plushie; the vague shape of a doll that stared back at her when she glanced down; soft and probably in need of a trip to the washing machine. Thumb pressing against the soft cloth, she moved it closer to her daughter’s nose, brushing against it until she elicited a soft giggle from her, lilac momentarily flashing and the plushie disappearing from Emma’s hand only to found itself back into Hope’s grasp.

Gasping, Emma blinked as Hope let out another laugh; this one filled with just enough of a mischievous streak that Emma could do nothing but melt.

She had been truthful when she had told Regina that she knew next to nothing to take care of a magical child, yet she found herself wondering; part of her anguish dissolving, as she stared at the toddler, at the happy way she kept playing around, worry on her well-being already forgotten.

She would love Hope no matter what, of course she would. She had longed to that kind of simple acceptance back when she had been a child herself, only to found it far too late in life. She would do better, be better.

Would she?

Panic starting to rise again, she thought back to the open way Regina had stared at Hope as the puzzle pieces clicked together; pure longing and want coloring her face. A kind of one that was so obvious Emma knew Regina had forgotten how to school her features in the way she usually did whenever she knew her feelings were brimming too close to the surface for Emma herself to feel comfortable with. Wasn’t that what the brunette had been doing for the longest of times after all?

Emma wasn’t dense; no matter how often the epithet _idiot_ was thrown to her in varying degrees of obvious affection. She knew how Regina kept her cards close to her chest; not wanting to push her away with something so obvious she suspected everyone knew already. Even if she liked to play pretend, even if she wished no one but them were in whatever situation they were walking towards. Fearing that, the second the secret was outed, everyone would like to give them a piece of their mind.

Yet there were times, brief, fleeting moments, in where she found herself daydreaming, in where she would look at Regina and be unable to fully disguise the feelings she felt traveling through her chest: filling her to the brim of the simple need to simply graze her fingers against hers, a smile so open on her lips she found herself biting down on it until she could feel the taste of copper against her tongue.

It had been easier to pretend back when it was only a dirty secret, hidden away in raspy admissions of lust and shattering orgasms that didn’t bleed into the wee hours of morning. It had become less easy the moment she had decided to stay, to toy with a line so blurred that it felt almost made on wet sand. It had been almost impossible when they kept pushing and prodding; not truly wanting to have the other admit it first but toy so close to that unspoken truth that Emma had felt close to bursting.

And yet, Regina had always stepped away when Emma had felt unable to keep upping the ante. The need to please her, the fear of losing whatever ground they had managed to create for themselves, so acute Emma had felt spasm after spasm biting on her diaphragm. She had taken it of course; she had been cowardly enough to take it and while she had felt powerful on the way she kept playing with Regina, using the same moves on her that the ones the brunette used on her she knew and realized that she was being selfish in the worst of ways.

She had wanted certain aspects of a relationship while Regina tucked away the rest, hurt flashing but never truly reaching her face as she waited, as she let Emma be the one who set the pace. And while that had worked for them for the first few encounters that had transformed into a slowly closing noose around them both.

Feeling a rush that left her lightheaded, Emma glanced down at her hands, blinking as dirty white sparks bled from her fingers; too packed together, too liquid in nature to truly be pulses of energy. The magic fell into the floor and disappeared between the polished wood, the few dancing lights that didn’t manage to disappear rising and embedding themselves back into her skin.

She had left, her mind told her; the voice cold but still hers; the last piece of the darker version of herself she had once been for a short period of time. She had left, she had run.

Despite everything.

She wasn’t entirely sure of how much time she passed stuck in that realization. She only was vaguely aware of the passing of time by the way she ultimately needed to feed Hope, light changing outside the house; transforming from bright late morning into the slight orange-y hues of afternoon.

She knew that a ball was still in effect, but she didn’t contact back when a chirping sound of a bird reached her worry-addled mind; her mother’s handwriting staring back at her when she read the short yet filled with worry note.

_“Are you ok? We didn’t see you at court.”_

 She had made enough mistakes, she realized and yet her mind was still frozen in terror every time she went back to Regina’s eyes as she had taken Hope away; as she had taken her daughter -their, a voice chanted deep inside her, _theirs_ \- away.

She had run, run and left.

There was very little she could say on her defense; she knew that just as she knew that there was an only possible solution. She knew that Hope’s eyes would rise questions and doubts, she knew that some of those who had eyed her when she had started to spend more time with Regina could rise brows and wonder. She knew there would be talk, there would be judgment.

She knew that all of that shouldn’t make her feel paralyzed and yet it felt like that. She had spent so long trying to fit herself into a box she had decided to play the ingenue at Regina’s own way of doing so; the brunette wishing to not harm her. It was ironic how, at the end, Emma’s actions had brought them pain.

But that, she found herself thinking, at some point after Hope had fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon; electric currents still fizzling in and out of her body at strange intervals, was what she always did at the end. She tried to be accepted and yet she always ended up hurting the only woman who, just as she had only seen Regina from the very first time they had met, only saw her as Emma.

Not the princess, not the savior. Emma.

How long, she wondered with fingers clutching her forearms so tightly she feared for bruises as she busied herself in the kitchen. How long would she then keep pretending that a part of her hadn’t been elated at the sight of Hope’s eyes? Or how long would she make Regina hide her own self? She had been honest with Snow all those years ago; back when the woman had merely been Mary Margaret. She didn’t do relationships; but she knew that what she was asking the brunette do would only create pain.

Regina deserved better. She knew that, she understood that.

Her thoughts were cut short but a soft rapping at her front step followed by the sound of keys opening it made her blink and turn just in time to look at Henry walking in.

Even if it wasn’t for the fact that Henry, the one that had knocked on her door all those years ago, was already an adult, she was able to see the subtle differences in the gangly teenager that addressed her now. It wasn’t only on his clothes: not quite modern, not quite from the realms’ couture either, but also on his posture, on the way he squared his shoulders, hands at his back, as he looked at her. They both had had problems at first, on talking to each other. For this Henry she had been his mother in a realm created by a wish; his memories ones the magic had created and implanted on him. For Emma, however, the memories were a mere product of such magic and not real even if they had felt like that; the thousand what ifs flashing before her when she had had the opportunity to first take a look at him. Henry, this Henry, the one who liked to be addressed as a Sir, had quickly warmed up to Regina in a way that had made Emma smile a little despite everything. It didn’t seem to matter in which reality they all ended up with after all: Henry would always be Regina’s prince.

Which had left both she and the boy in a strange relationship. The kind of one in where Emma called her “kid” only to correct herself despite Henry’s promises that he didn’t mind while he gave her a crocked smile. The one she had learnt to link to a Neal that wasn’t there anymore; that had never been there to begin with.

“Henry.” She said as the teen turned and searched for Hope, a crack of a smile on his lips the second he found his sister peacefully asleep. “What…”

“The ball is going to start.” His voice held a cadence that the older Henry had never had and Emma found herself speechless as Henry shrugged, the doublet he wore shaking with his movements. “I thought you wanted me to take care of Hope.”

There was a quiet question there and Emma remembered that Henry was going to be at court, her absence a prominent obviousness he had probably picked it up.

“I did.” She replied, a weak smile on her lips as she walked towards her, movements shaky. “I just…”

“Ruby told me that she has magic.” There it was again, the quiet question and Emma found herself fiddling with her fingers as Henry walked towards Hope, head tilted as he stared at her. Almost as if he was waiting for something to happen.

“She does.” She finally answered, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I don’t know if I should leave you two…”

“I think you should go.” It was abrupt, but it made Emma think back not on this Henry but the older one, back when they both had been at New York. A set of fake memories on them as he tried to push her to date again: not entirely subtle but not asking for forgiveness either by the way he spoke to her; pushing her. “Mo… The Queen asked for you.”

It was a slip up, a quick one but Emma picked it up nonetheless and she found herself closing her eyes tightly together just as Henry bent over Hope’s crib, caressing her face with one finger in the way he always behaved around her: as if she was precious. Unique.

And she was.

“She did?” She couldn’t help the question and Henry glanced at her the moment she opened back her eyes; a series of distant questions brimming on his own. He didn’t have magic, not one iota, but Emma still felt the trembling on her heart, the thread that linked her to him. It didn’t matter; she realized belatedly, if it was a product of magic or not. And that very same thought made her heart clench.

“You weren’t at court.” The boy replied succinctly, and Emma parted her lips, ready to say something but finding herself unable to. She had spent the last few hours psyching herself, trying to make her realize she needed to do something, anything but the second she was facing a moment to do something she still froze.

Coward.

“I wasn’t.” She finally replied, and Henry’s eyes narrowed in the same way Granny’s had done that morning; far too knowledgably.

Idiot.

“You should go.” The words left her breathless and Henry smiled at her. The next time he spoke it was with the deliberate slowness of a teen trying to make her see something they both knew that was already painfully obvious. “Mom will love to have you there. She has changed the theme of the ball. It’s going to be a masquerade. She didn’t tell me to…” Clearing her throat, the teen pointed at Emma with one vague movement; fingers extended, posture so perfect Emma wondered how she hadn’t been able to retain such knowledge from her own wish. “But you should go.”

Emma didn’t ask what the boy exactly knew. She suspected it didn’t truly matter at the end. The teen was there after all, pushing her towards the ball while not accepting a no for an answer. And hadn’t she been thinking on going either way? On asking for a forgiveness she wasn’t even sure on how to ask?

“I don’t know if that’s the right thing.” She said while shrugging and she could feel Henry’s glare even before the boy addressed her fully.

“You might not remember.” He began, and Emma felt a thousand of apologies burning at the back of her throat. The kind of ones she knew she should address at some point. “But you taught me that bravery is not only charging in a battlefield.”

Emma blinked at the words, the weight on her shoulders morphing into a tight-coiled rope around her collarbones.

“You need to go, mom.”

It wasn’t a plea, but the words rang true and soft and Emma found herself nodding, mouth dry as she tried to truly process what they meant.

“What if.” She began, only to interrupt herself yet again. Henry, however, wasn’t having it.

“You stopped me using magic you didn’t know you even possessed when I tried to kill her.” Smiling a little, the boy hummed. It didn’t matter what kind of upbringing he had had: he was still too young. “I think there’s no what ifs.”

It was the closest Emma had been to talk openly to something she had treated as a secret and she could feel the first pangs of panic beginning to settle in deep on her throat. She shook them off, however, when Henry kept staring at her; stern but soft around his edges in a way that made Emma think of a brunette. One she had hurt beyond belief time and time again.

“Ok.” She finally said. “Ok.”

It was, of course, easier said that done. She found herself staring at the array of dresses that had strangely found their way in her wardrobe, courtesy of her mother every time some kind of regal court happened and while she had been uncomfortable with them before she had accepted them as part of what she was supposed to do; part of the role she was supposed to play.

Yet, whatever she was about to do wasn’t a play, a role. She wanted to go as herself just as much Regina told her as much in those times at nightfall when nothing but kisses and heated admissions would break their lips.

It was precisely that thought what made her magic the dresses away with a few flicks of her wrist, the resulting plume of dirty white smoke not strong but powerful enough for her to breath in deeply the residue of clear ozone clinging to the walls of her bedroom.

Downstairs, Henry was already playing with Hope, the quiet commands the boy made to an obviously giggling toddler making her heart flutter. She had told him to call them, no matter the way he managed to do so, if anything happened and when she had stated that she could also call Regina the boy had merely pressed his lips into another smile. One closer to a smirk that had fully developed the moment Hope had opened her eyes; brown obvious and filled with soft lilac sparks.

Growling at herself, Emma shook her head, eyeing the clothes that were left in the wardrobe. Nothing exactly screaming the perfect fit. Which was, she realized, another way of self-sabotaging herself.

She wished to go as Emma, her mind whispered, then that was precisely what she needed to go as.

* * *

 

By the time she reached the doors that led to the main ballroom no one, not even the late arriving guests, were around and she eyed worriedly at the stand in where a few feather-shaped leather straps rested; the term “masquerade” reaching through her mind as she pressed the palm of her hands against the tight-fitted trousers she wore. Not exactly jeans, the cloth soft and breathy and pearly white, Emma drummed her fingers against her thighs as she fumbled a little, her knee-high boots brown leather but gold trimmed in complicated patterns she half-wished her magic hadn’t conjured.

It would be impossible for her to slip in without being noticed; the fitted doublet framing her upper body, reddish in color and holding the same golden details in cuffs and lapels. Yet, wasn’t that what she wanted?

Taking a deep breath, she magicked a mask between her fingers; the white feathers flecked with gold and red as they flared from the center of it towards where her eyes would go. It was just as obvious as her clothing, just as loud.

Just as hers, the she she had carefully buried away and the one she still see Regina longing for. With one decisive nod to no one else but her, she pressed the interior of the mask against her skin; the feathers tickling but not enough to make it too uncomfortable. With one last push, she opened the doors; the music washing over her the second she was able to focus on the ones that turned towards her; curious.

“Sorry I’m late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Strega, the floor is yours


End file.
